RubaDubDub, Brittana in a Tub
by uhpockuhlipz
Summary: Wait, so was the bath they took together last week a date? Brittana


In which I had a lot of feelings. Spoilers for 3x04.

Did their bath count as a date? Santana blinked a bit at the question, taking a moment to think back on that day the week before.

Sue had been hard on her. She took pleasure, Santana thought, in lording her knowledge of Santana's biggest secret over her head. She supposed it was a punishment for quitting Cheerios the year before, and she was taking double the trouble because Santana had threatened to walk if Sue even _thought_the word 'extra laps' in Brittany's direction. If Sue wanted her pound of flesh, fine. Santana would let her vomit up her bitterness all over her Captain's C. But she wouldn't punish Brittany for not letting Sue kill her last year. No way. So Santana did the extra laps, the extra suicides, the extra situps, the extra squats. Santana hauled equipment and slapped around the Cheerios and kicked out the freshmen Sue didn't want, dealing with their tears and begging. Brittany wanted to do everything with her, but Santana refused. No point, she thought. There was no point.

That didn't mean she didn't expect to be cuddled after because she totally did. Whenever she got back from her late practices, she expected to be treated like a fucking queen because, Jesus, who wanted to spend all that extra time with Coach Sylvester? Not her. _So_not her. Usually her after-practice coddling sessions took place at Brittany's house because, well, who else was going to take care of her? And Santana took care of her, too. She wasn't a freeloader. She believed in paying people back in kind. Well…. She believed in paying _Brittany_back in kind. No one else did things for her like Britt did. Brittany, always so quick to offer a massage, even in school. Brittany, who would lift Santana's feet into her lap after Santana collapses back on her bed in order to rub the aches away. Brittany, who would kiss her sore ankles and screaming calves and burning knees and tender thighs until all her muscles quivered and liquefied and released all of that pain. Brittany, who would crawl over her body but never settle her weight onto her so that she wouldn't hurt her, just to kiss the tip of her nose and her forehead and her cheeks and her chin. Brittany, who would smile and tell her how beautiful she was even though she was sweaty and gross before kissing her right on the lips.

Santana wasn't quite sure _where_she and Britt stood, but she knew that the blonde was her favorite person in the world and the only one she would trust with her queen treatment.

So just like every day, Santana went to Brittany's house. Just like every day, her parents were still working and their book store and her sister was at her best friend's house until that evening when the Pierces would pick her up, pick up dinner, and drive home. That meant they had a good two hours to themselves, and if they wanted more, they could just go to Santana's big, empty house and have it there. She groaned loudly as she flopped onto Brittany's bed, every muscle in her body protesting the too-fast and too-harsh movement. "She's going to kill me," she groaned and Brittany hummed in sympathy, her hands already tugging off Santana's shoes and socks. This is normal and the Latina doesn't pay attention, too busy listening to the muffled pounding in her ears that warned of an oncoming migraine. When her hands went to Santana's skirt zipper, though, she took notice. Dark eyes flew open and she looked down, batting Brittany's hands away with a flustered wave of her hands. "Not noooow, Britt, I'm dying," she protested, but the dancer only smiled and continued what she was doing.

"This will be easier without clothes," she commented, and Santana felt heat creep into her face and, well, elsewhere. Instead of protesting again, she let her head rest once more on Brittany's pillow, her scent engulfing her as tender hands stripped away sweat-dampened polyester. "Up you go, honey," Brittany mumbled, tugging on Santana's hand until she groaned and stood again, naked now and embarrassed.

"Britt…"

"Don't worry, San. I'm not going to ravish you or anything." She smiled again, her bright eyes warm and loving. That damned expression that made Santana melt every time. So she followed like a complacent child, tan fingers tucked in pale, as Brittany led her from the bedroom and down the hall toward her bathroom. Lord Tubbington lay in front of the door and she nudged him with her foot, threatening him absently with a lack of Arbys before he finally moved and they slid past the door. The room was glowing with candles, the air thick with the vanilla scent that wafted from them. Brittany's preferred candle scent. The tub was full, Santana noted, and layered with thick, white bubbles. Steam filled the small space, wafted in curls from the water that beckoned them. "Here, sit," Brittany said, and she nudged Santana down onto the toilet as she stripped out of the tank top and sweatpants she'd been wearing. Her hair was down, but she tied it all up then before letting Santana's free. Instantly the absence of the tight ponytail had her headache dimming. She smiled gratefully and struggled to keep her eyes level with her best friend's. Sure, this was intimate, but Santana wasn't certain it actually meant anything.

"You've been busy," she said shakily, and Brittany giggled and nodded as she drew Santana to her feet again. She found her dark hair once again piled on top of her head, but the bun was loose and floppy and did nothing but keep it all off her face and shoulders. And then she was melting into the tub and it was just what she needed, but of course it was, duh, Brittany always knew what would be good for her. It helped when that long, warm body slid in behind her, drew her back so that her head was pillowed on her shoulder. "This is nice." She spoke quietly, fingers gliding over the bubbles as they snapped and shimmered in the light from the candles.

"I thought maybe you'd want to relax. It's been a long week." Brittany's hands ran down her arms, rubbed lightly at her muscles before she laced their fingers on top of Santana's knees. "You've been doing so great with everything, San. I know you don't like Rory much-" in fact, her meeting with that fucker the day before had been disastrous, and come to think of it, where was his Shamrock ass today? "-But you've been really good with it. And everything." Soft lips pressed to her shoulder and it was like instantly the pain there disappeared. "I'm so proud of everything you are, did you know that?" She nuzzled the back of her neck and Santana slipped back further, body relaxing and eyes closing. She could feel Brittany's smile against her skin and it made her ache in whole new ways. They stayed that way for a long while, Brittany occasionally kneading sore muscles before returning her hands to Santana's. Always back to Santana's, always grounding her in the moment, always reminding her that they were in this together.

When one of those hands slipped down to her stomach, rubbed in slow circles, she knew what was coming. That was the thing with them. They knew how to read one another, knew what was needed, knew who to communicate without all the stupid fucking words. Brittany didn't push, and in return, Santana didn't deny. Instead, she turned her head and Brittany's lips were there to meet hers. They slid together, slow and warm and perfectly fitted as they always were. And suddenly the hot water surrounding them felt lukewarm against her skin, her internal temperature spiking at the gentle glide of long fingers over wanting flesh. "Britt," she breathed into her mouth, body arching as the other girl slid into her, filled her. She saw her brow wrinkle in concentration a moment before her eyes dropped and locked on Brittany's. She smiled and kissed Santana's chin, her cheeks, her forehead.

"San," she echoed quietly, moving out and then back in, setting a steady rhythm. Her smile was small and sweet. "I want to make you feel good again."

"You're winning," Santana managed to gasp out, arching again. The pain was all forgotten as Brittany's hips pressed up into hers, her other hand lifting to cup Santana's breast. She toyed with a stiffened peak, pinched gently in time with her next slow thrust. The noises Santana made were breathless, higher pitched than they ever were otherwise. It was almost scary how well Brittany could play her body, could shoot her from relaxation to the sweetest tension in minutes. Their eyes were locked the entire time, which was a newer aspect of their sex, but something Santana found wasn't as bad as she thought it was the year before. Actually, it made it better. Seeing everything she felt just… right there in those gorgeous blue eyes…

When she peaked and came down again sometime later, Brittany's arms wrapped around her and held her close. Santana melted into her, everything going lax as her lashes fluttered shut at last. "Feel better?" Brittany whispered.

"You have no idea," Santana whispered in response, and she kissed Brittany again, her lips lazy against her friend's.

And later, in bed, Santana did what she always did- she returned the favor.

Back in reality, Santana stared across at her best friend. It was a date? They were dating? Did that make Brittany her… _girlfriend_? "I wish you'd hold my hand," she breathed out quietly, and Brittany smiled softly and reached out to do just that. Everything in her settled and she grinned, and even when she tucked the napkin over their hands she felt on top of the world.

Because she was on her _second_date with Brittany S. Pierce, love of her life, and it felt so fucking good.


End file.
